


Help Yourself

by panda_queen2002



Series: Help Yourself [1]
Category: MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_queen2002/pseuds/panda_queen2002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way hasn't gotten much out of life until he decides to join the school band at his bother Mikey's recommendation, but was meeting the mysteriously wonderful Frank Iero there a blessing or a curse?</p><p>-Frerard<br/>-Fluff<br/>-This is my first fanfiction so please be honest (^-^)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Yourself

Damn.

What am I doing?

No, I've put this off for far too long. Tonight is the night. 

After walking briskly along the dark streets and alleys of New Jersey for roughly ten minutes, I found it. Everyone, whether I knew them or not, had changed the way they looked at me. Did they know? Mikey had said just yesterday that I was making him upset.

Mikey.

No.

Did that mean that people could smell my despair? Did they know?

Nevermind. I'm here now. Shadows seemed to have been staring at me, but they wouldn't be for long. As I approached, the railing loomed and threatened my bravery. Climbing it wasn't the hard part. Letting go of it was.

My main lifeline was not the music pumping through my headphones for once, but three fingers on each hand gripping the cold metal of the barrier. The barrier designed to stop people falling off of the bridge and plummeting to their tragic deaths. I would soon prove that whoever's idea that was had not done a very good job.

How was I going to do this? Just think happy thoughts and force myself to jump? Count to three? That one sounds better. Here we go.

One.

Should I say something? I've always wanted my last words to be something special, special enough to quote at my funeral. If anyone came.

Two.

How long would it take anyone to notice I was gone, and not coming back? I had texted Mum I wouldn't be home for dinner, but would someone else find my lifeless body before she began to look? Probably.

 

Three. 

It's too late for any more distractions. This is it. My inevitable death, and not a moment too soon.

Ring!

What the hell was-

Ring!

That?

Hooking my arms through a few bars of the railing I answered the phone.

"Hey, Gerard, where are you?" Mikey. "It's dark, you'll get lost, knowing you. Come home... Gerard?"

"Oh, hey, hi. I, um... I was just...taking a walk, you know? And I... I don't think I'll be coming home any time soon... Goodbye, Mikey". What did I say that for?! I shouldn't have said goodbye like that, he'll suspect something!

"Gerard? Don't talk like that, it's scary. Just come home, okay?" Oops, I was right. Again.

I agree and, after a considerable amount of sighing, climb back over the railing. Nothing I do goes right, even suicide, and that's pathetic of me. I glumly gaze at the black, heaving mass of a river below and make a mental note to come back here in the daytime when I can get a proper look. I don't know of anyone who sees things like I do, or at least tries to. I picture a kid slouching against the metal railing, notebook and pencil in hand, just looking expectantly at the sparkling water. Maybe I'll just take a picture; attention never worked out well for me.

The speed-walk home is much colder than I remember it being before. The shadow-strewn floor and looming buildings seem to move and change shape as I whizz past them. Wow, I'm tired.

I don't bother knocking on the peeling black paint of our front door, but decide to fumble with my collection of keys for a minute instead. The orange glow seeping into the hallway from under the living room door seems like the first bright light I've seen in over a long hour.

Mikey must've heard the door close because he gallops down the stairs and gives me a half-wave and one of his signature half-smiles. No hugs, no happiness to see me, no comfort or confidence around me, though really what was I expecting? At least he noticed my absence. I wasn't expecting that.

Right, time to (try to) go back to my normal life. I'm not normal in any sense of the word, but then I'm nothing extraordinary either. I don't know what I am. I mentally count all the "alternative/other" boxes I've ticked in my lifetime while locking my bedroom door and reaching for my headphones.

Maybe I should try singing. Numerous famous people say that singing has "helped them through it" and has "changed their lives". Of course I don't believe any of that. Nothing I've tried has succeeded, for more than a short time, in making me feel less... depressed. I hate using that word, but I guess that's what this is. I feel like I'm a disgrace to depression, that I don't deserve that excuse for my heavy procrastination, because millions of people around the world have it harder than me, are starving to death, being framed for crimes, living with abusive family, etc. I just... have so many thoughts that wouldn't exactly be welcome with polite company.

I'm definitely not insane, like all the other kids at high school say I am. Is it so wrong to draw what I'm thinking about, dreaming about? And is it also wrong to be thinking about people dying, on a daily basis? Apparently. But they tempt me, they're pretty much asking for it. I'm not insane. I'm not. Just different, like Mikey says. I don't even know where whatever is apparently "wrong" with me came from, really. Sure, life isn't easy, but my childhood was pretty average. You know, compared.

I fall asleep slowly, headphones still on, to thoughts of having to wake up again when I was so sure I wouldn't have to go through that daily, mini torture again.


End file.
